Chapter One Hundred Fourty-Seven:
Dark Glasses

Le Ferie, Brindisi, Italy.

Lucky digs his hands into his jacket as he enters the bistro, glancing around. It's noisy, lots of loud conversations escalating and overlapping as the mostly male crowd competes to be heard over the din. Lucky leans against a cedar post just inside the door and takes the place in. He spots, in the back, the man he must be looking for. He is reading, hunched over a table. He has a sizable beer belly, and is wearing a white collared shirt, the first two buttons undone, the cuffs rolled up. He looks up from the book occasionally and dips into a plate of some sort of seafood covered in a bright red sauce, some of which stains his graying beard. Lucky takes him in a moment, before moving, as casually as possible, to the back. It's hard for him to ignore the fact that, in jeans and his leather jacket, he practically screams "American". He's also, easily, the youngest person there. By decades.

Lucky slides up to the table, letting his shadow fall over the man's book. The man finishes his page, then turns down the corner and folds the book, setting it aside in a fastidious manner that contradicts his physical appearance. He looks up at Lucky. He blinks. Lucky realizes he's not going to say anything. He clears his throat.

Lucky: Marfoglia? (The man nods slowly)

Theo: (finally) Theodore. You're Morgan's man? (Lucky narrows his eyes slightly. The man speaks with only a slight Italian accent, sounding more like an American than a native of this country. He looks Lucky up and down) I use the term "man" loosely.

Lucky: (mouth tightening) Thanks. (Theo leans back, studying his face)

Theo: How old are you? I'd guess around eight, if you weren't so damn tall. (Lucky frowns in spite of himself)

Lucky: Does it matter?

Theo: (shrugging) Sit down. (Lucky pulls the chair out, resisting the urge to turn it around in some aggressive statement of American Teenagerhood. He's not accustomed to being treated like a child, he never has been. He sits down across from the man and folds his arms. Theo continues to appraise him) Morgan says you need a couple of favors. (Lucky shrugs)

Lucky: Not favors. I can pay. (Theo returns his attention to his meal)

Theo: Ah, money helps. (He looks back at him) But it doesn't change the fact that this is a favor, my friend. (Lucky stiffens. Problem with Jason, always, is that he's not exactly great at letting you know what to expect from people. And he gave Lucky no clue this guy was going to be so circular)

Lucky: (with an edge) Look at it however you want. I'm only in town a day.

Theo: (contemplative) Determined little punk, aren't you? (Lucky stares at him a long moment, then, having considers his options, breaks into a grin)

Lucky: You have a problem with that? (Theo chuckles lightly. Lucky watches him, deciding this is probably a good thing. The man looks back at him)

Theo: How the hell does a skinny kid like you end up in a place like this? (Lucky glances around the room).

Lucky: Practice. (Theo laughs again, a little more amused)

Theo: You didn't answer. How old are you?

Lucky: Eighteen.

Theo: A baby. Hell, you're practically a zygote.

Lucky: I'm old enough. (Lucky winces at the statement. He's sick of this. He's spent his early teenaged years on trying to convince people he was older than he looked. The problem was, with the exception of a few more inches in height, he still looked like he did when he was sixteen).

Theo: Yeah, you think so, huh? (He cracks open a shell of the sauce soaked seafood with his hands, the sound carrying) How do you know Morgan?

Lucky: (watching with slight distaste) Family friend.

Theo: What family is that? (Lucky hesitates a millisecond. Time may have passed, but he isn't going to advertise that little detail).

Lucky: The Family of Man.

Theo: (laughing) You got a name? (Lucky represses a strong urge to start fidgeting with something. What the hell was this? Meet the Press?)

Lucky: You ask a lot of questions.

Theo: (swallowing down the food) Yeah, but I don't answer many. I just wanna know who I'm dealing with.

Lucky: (letting his annoyance show) Why? I mean… No offence, but my money is money, why do you care who it's coming from?

Theo: You American, huh? (Lucky stares at him as if he's nuts. Duh) That's the money you have?

Lucky: (shaking his head) Look, if I'm wasting my time, you better tell me now. (Theo looks up, over his glasses this time, then pulls them off and fold them, lying them on top of the book. He looks back at Lucky a long moment, then pushes the plate of shellfish towards him).

Theo: Eat with me.

Lucky: What?

Theo: (patiently) You eat?

Lucky: No.

Theo: Do you ever?

Lucky: (slowly) Yeah…

Theo: Then eat with ME. (Lucky laughs slightly, shaking his head.)

Lucky: Is this going to get me anywhere?

Theo: I'll tell you one thing… This (he gestures to Lucky's posture) isn't getting you anywhere. But you got potential.

Lucky: (wryly) Thanks. But I'm not looking for a mentor, I've been down that road. (Theo laughs, throwing his head back. Lucky feels himself rising from the chair in anger, but grips the edge, physically restraining himself from standing up. Theo brings himself forward again).

Theo: (beckoning) Come here. (Lucky looks at him a moment, then reluctantly leans forward) I know what you're looking for. You got some money and one connection… you think it can get you everything you need? (Lucky looks away. Theo laughs softly) Ah… Lucky for you, it's a good connection. Hell, far as I know, Morgan doesn't do favors for anyone. Makes me curious.

Lucky: (looking back) Curious? It doesn't pay to be curious in your line of work.

Theo: What do you think my line of work is? (Lucky doesn't say anything) I can help you out. But if I do, I have to know who I'm dealing with. If you wanna continue with this tough punk thing, go ahead. But you look like… Dime a dozen.

Lucky: (darkly) You don't have me pegged yet.

Theo: Then prove it. (He pushes the dish he's been eating towards Lucky) Cuzzo Marinara. Try. (Lucky stares at the plate trying to put together the pieces between being a dime a dozen and eating shellfish. He picks up a shell and breaks it, sucking the soft tissue from the shell. He holds it in his mouth a minute, then swallows it.)

Lucky: Mussels.

Theo: Ahhh… Now you're getting somewhere.

Hotel Raphael

Nikolas tosses his jacket down on the chair inside the door, amazed that he made it back to the hotel room in one piece. Mentally, that is. The evening had been trying. He had dined with Lord Ruben, an acquaintance of Stefan's. Acquaintance. Stefan didn't have friends, though if he had, Ruben might have been one of them. The conversation throughout the evening, despite Ruben's English heritage, had been entirely Italian, which Nikolas had encouraged. Speaking another language aided in separating the event from the rest of his life. Not that the meal had been a difficult adjustment. Despite his long absence from noble society, Nikolas was well practiced at these things. Though… He realized through the incessant questions from the Lord's teenaged daughter, that his years in America now made him something of a curiosity… more because of his age. His admission to having attended almost an entire semester at a public high school had elicited an astonished response. He's realized, once the words had passed his lips, that his uncle/father was not going to appreciate him unleashing that information on a rumor starved social circle. With any luck, however, it would only last until the British Crown went and humiliated themselves again. A week, at best.

All of that had been familiar, hadn't bothered him in the least. He had to admit, he'd found it ever so slightly comforting. But it hadn't changed the fact that he'd been playing a part. Acting as if nothing was wrong while everything was falling apart. Now, alone in his room again, he's finding he can't shake the act. He has this terrible feeling brewing inside him that simply won't break through to the surface.

Nikolas looks around the room, trying to find something to do. He's not tired yet, and there must be something he can do that will seem adequately normal. Normal. He smiles slightly at the word. Since when did Cassadines strive to appear normal? His eyes fall on the telephone. He could call Port Charles… In fact, something has been gnawing at him. Something he hasn't done. Something he won't be able to do in the very near future. He moves to the phone and sits down on the edge of the bed, staring at the phone a long moment before finally picking it up. This was gong to be tricky… a big part of why he'd put it off. But he had to do it. He'd just have to manipulate things to the best of his abilities, just in case Lucky was right and the calls were being monitored. He picks up the phone and goes through the arduous process of dialing overseas. Finally the phone begins to ring. It's picked up after the forth ring.

Lulu: Hello? (Nikolas, nearly bowled over by his luck, falls back onto the bed)

Nik: (smiling) I was hoping you'd answer. (Lulu, holding the receiver awkwardly to her ear, jumps up and down on the spot at the sound of her brother's voice)

Lulu: Nikolas!

Nik: (laughing softly) Shh, shh. Calm down. Where's Laura? (Lulu stops, biting her lip, and turns to look up the stairs).

Lulu: Mommy's sleeping. She's taking a nap.

Nik: A nap?

Lulu: She's tired.

Nik: Oh… (He frowns) Is she all right? (Lulu starts to twist the cords around her fingers)

Lulu: Are you coming home? (Nikolas closes his eyes.)

Nik: No. Not yet.

Lulu: Did you see Lucky? (The second the question is out of Lulu's mouth, she puts her hand over her mouth, remembering what Lucky said earlier)

Nik: (covering) Lucky? No. No, I haven't. He's not here. (Lulu drops her hand, finding Nikolas' voice reassuring)

Lulu: I miss him. (Quickly) I miss you too.

Nik: I know. I miss you every minute, Lesley Lu. I hope you know that.

Lulu: I do. And Lucky too. He said he did.

Nik: Did you talk to him?

Lulu: Yup! And I didn't tell anyone.

Nik: You didn't.

Lulu: He said not to.

Nik: But you just told me.

Lulu: Well you won't tell anyone.

Nik: No.

Lulu: I'm not supposed to talk about him at all.

Nik: Did he say that?

Lulu: Yes. So I'm not saying anything else. (Nikolas frowns, sitting up. He runs the conversation through his head quickly, trying to figure out how it sounds. Deciding it can be read a million different ways, he continues to lead her away from the topic of their brother).

Nik: How are you, Lesley Lu?

Lulu: Ok…

Nik: You don't sound ok. Is Laura… Is Laura sleeping a lot?

Lulu: She's tired a lot. And Daddy's not here.

Nik: That's… That's too bad, Lulu. (Lulu giggles slightly)

Lulu: You did it again.

Nik: What?

Lulu: Called me Lulu!

Nik: Yeah, I guess I did.

Lulu: That's ok. But I like it when you call me Lesley Lu, too.

Nik: Then I guess I can't go wrong. (He stops, smiling to himself) Hey, do you remember when you used to call me Nikky?

Lulu: (gravely) When I was little. (Nikolas stops himself from laughing. Yeah. Last year)

Nik: Well, don't tell anyone, but I liked it when you called me that. But just you.

Lulu: Really?

Nik: You can call me whatever you want. You're my sister, you get certain privileges.

Lulu: (slowly) Ok… (Nikolas laughs again, aware that Lulu always says that when she doesn't exactly understand what he's talking about. He shakes himself and sits up).

Nik: Lulu… I can't talk for long. But I'm going to send you a postcard, all right? First thing tomorrow. From Rome… do you know about Rome?

Lulu: Uh uh.

Nik: Ask Laura. She'll tell you. And I'll find one with a nice picture so you can see where I am.

Lulu: Ok!

Nik: and Lulu… Lesley Lu. (He takes a deep breath. There has to be some way to say all of this without SAYING it) Do you remember what I said to you in the park.

Lulu: Yes.

Nik: Good. And… You know that everything will be all right. In the end. (He coughs slightly) With your… Father. Things work out, somehow. Maybe not the way we expect, but they always work out. (He frowns. He's not sure he believes that himself. They go on. That's not always working out.)

Lulu: Do you have to go?

Nik: (heavily) I really do. I do. But I'll be back, I promise.

Lulu: (sadly) I know. (The tone of Lulu's voice hits Nikolas like a knife. He winces, then takes a deep breath).

Nik: I love you. (he exhales shakily) I'll never love another little girl the way I love you. (Lulu looks concerned, holding the phone tightly)

Lulu: Well… I love you and Lucky the same. (Nikolas finds himself smiling)

Nik: At least somebody does… I have to say good-bye now.

Lulu: Ok. Good-bye.

Nik: Be strong, Princess.

Lulu: (setting her jaw) I will be. I am.

Nik: I know. Say hello to Laura when she wakes up. (Lulu nods into the phone) Remember what I said.

Lulu: I will. Good-bye, Nikky.

Nik: (softly) Good-bye. (He hangs up slowly, then leans forward, his head in his hands a long moment. Finally he gets up and moves across the room to his suitcase. He opens the bag and stares at the contents. He moves them aside, and pulls out a box. He takes it in his hands carefully and places it on the dresser. He stares at it a long moment, then looks back at the suitcase. He never unpacked. He supposes that's something he should do now. Or in the morning. At this moment he feels exhausted. He looks back at the box, a lump rising in his throat, then turns sharply. It seems like the best way to do this is not thinking about anything for too long. The important part is just getting through. Somehow.)

Le Ferie, Brindisi, Italy.

After joining Theo in what he considers a substantial meal, Lucky is now sitting, his elbows on the wooden table, having just extinguished the flaming beverage Marfoglia insisted he order. He thinks he understands what this man is doing. He's been lead through a conversation, based mostly on food, that has, inevitably, led him to disclose a few select facts about his life, while allowing him to keep the lid on most of the actual details. This appears to be all about figuring out what kind of guy he is… which, he assumes, has something to do with the mode of transport he's told this man can arrange. He hears Theo's chair creak as he leans back.

Theo: (conversationally) You ever live in Italy?

Lucky: (flinching) Uh… Northern part, I think. Not for long. We avoided the Mediterranean. (Theo raises his eyebrows) You don't want to know. And I don't want to think about it. (He looks down at the glass again. It's some sort of liqueur with… Black burned… Beans? He can't tell. He hopes they're beans of some sort.) Help me out here. What the hell is this?

Theo: Sambuca con le masche. (Lucky looks back at him, sharply)

Lucky: My Italian is not that great, but isn't "le masche" flies?

Theo: It's burned coffee beans.

Lucky: (looking back into the glass) Cool. Caffeine. (He looks back at Theo) We have a well-established report. (He takes a sip of the drink and winces slightly as it burns down his throat. Theo gives a throaty laugh).

Theo: You don't drink? (Lucky shakes his head, in protest)

Lucky: I don't have any moral issues, just not… My girlfriend tries to stay away from controlled substances. I'm not interested in making it more difficult for her.

Theo: Sounds like she didn't always… Stay away.

Lucky: She has for three years now. (He smirks slightly) I can drink though. It's in the genes.

Theo: Father a boozehound? (Lucky puts the glass down and looks at it intently, not speaking) I thought a minute this mentor of yours might have been one of those spiritual guru types. No meat, no cheese, no alcohol.

Lucky: (voice dead) No… Not that kind of mentor.

Theo: Yeah? You don't like the type. Hell, I can barely imagine you had parents.

Lucky: (taking another drink) I do.

Theo: Do, or did?

Lucky: What? Why does it matter? (He sits back in the chair, staring hard at the table. His gut reaction is to let go and surrender to the anger that is pushing at him. Instead he picks up the glass again. He's not doing this. He's not coming this far to freak out now. He takes a longer swig of the sickly sweet liquid. This is not the kind of liquor he's used to. It's slightly nauseating. He shakes his head, still not looking back at the man) Never mind. It's not my favorite topic.

Theo: Apparently.

Lucky: (glancing back at him) Can I ask you a question?

Theo: Sure. I'm an open book. Just missing a couple of pages here and there.

Lucky: Uh, yeah… What… What's with all this interest?

Theo: (shrugging) I'm a writing. (He coughs) A hobbyist. And I'm a romantic.

Lucky: A romantic.

Theo: Sure… Port town in Italy, noisy bar, colorful locals.

Lucky: You're not Italian.

Theo: Sure I am. Born and bread… until I was 12. (Lucky smiles)

Lucky: I figured. How long did you live in the states?

Theo: Long enough to see that the streets weren't paved with gold. (Lucky sighs)

Lucky: But hey, it's home. (He spins the glass on the table, moodily. Theo watches him carefully)

Theo: You were right. About me not having you pegged. I'd even go as far to say you're interesting.

Lucky: (sarcastically) Does this mean I passed?

Theo: Ah, hell. I gotta eat.

Lucky: (glancing up) Good. So you wanna actually talk business now?

Theo: (reaching into a bag) We can settle up. (He slides an object across the table, under a cloth napkin. Lucky looks at it a moment, then slides it in front of him, bringing it off the table and sliding it under the table. He removes the napkin and turns the gun around in his hand, checking it. He flips the piece around in his hand, holding the weight. He smiles slightly.)

Lucky: (quietly) This is more like it.

Theo: More like what?

Lucky: (after a lengthy pause) My… My father. He had this thing… you have to have a relationship with your gun. It has to have a… Personality. (He checks the clip, the slides he gun into the waist of his jeans, the cold metal pressing against his skin. He pulls his wallet out and peels off a few bills and hands them to Marfoglia. He smiles and picks the bills up and counts them).

Theo: My rates went up, but… (He shrugs) I like your smile. (Lucky makes a face, and takes another swig of his drink) Your father's right. About the gun.

Lucky: (quietly) He usually is.

Theo: (laughing) A boy who still respects his father. You're a rare breed. (Lucky tenses visibly, which intrigues Theo further. He crosses his arms) This how you know Morgan? (Lucky picks up the glass and downs the remaining contents, coffee beans and all, in one gulp. He puts the glass back down on the table with a thud, and looks at Theo, his eyes fiery)

Lucky: Look. Morgan set me onto you for two reasons. One, he says you're safe. Two, he wants his sister to stay that way. Ok? You see the whole picture now?

Theo: Boy, do I. (He pushes his drink across to Lucky) Drink up, you need to blow off some steam.

Lucky: (gritting his teeth) I'm fine.

Theo: Sure ya are. (Lucky glares at him, then takes the drink and swallows it down with equal speed, as if on a dare. This guy is alternately likable and completely infuriating. He puts the glass down and leans against the table)

Lucky: Ok. Next?

Theo: Bit anxious, aren't ya?

Lucky: You know what I got on the line. I gotta get to Greece. In one piece. If that doesn't happen, Morgan will be looking for you, that simple. (He stops, realizing how belligerent he sounds, and takes a long, careful breath) This is important. I got people counting on me. I need to know where I stand.

Theo: (nodding) Ok. (He smiles at Lucky who throws himself back in his chair, feeling like he's just been pulled in a million different directions in the last five minutes. He closes his eyes, realizing a headache is coming on, and looks across at Theo. After a moment, the man speaks, his voice soft, almost lulling). I gotta say, smuggling people, this is not up my friend's alley… they aren't much on social interaction. But you got enough money, they'll deal.

Lucky: They know anything about this?

Theo: Yeah, yeah. You come down to the docks with me tomorrow morning, we'll straighten it all out.

Lucky: Guaranteed.

Theo: Hey. You have friends in high places. (He chuckles to himself) Don't worry, kid. I'll get you where you're going.

Sant' Anna Hotel.

The middle of the night. Emily lies on the edge of her side of the bed, the covers gathered around her in a way that suggests a restless night. The ringing of the phone cuts through the silence of the room and Emily wakens immediately. She looks over at the phone, the slides quickly across the bed, pulling the phone onto an empty portion of the mattress, and answering it.

Emily: (a little bleary) Hello?

Lucky: (smiling into the phone) Hi… Did I wake you?

Em: (curling up) Mmmm. I was hoping it was you.

Lucky: I woke you. Go back to sleep.

Em: (protesting, though sleepily) No, no. I was barely asleep. (She closes her eyes) I've grown accustomed to having you next to me. This feels… Strange. (Lucky leans against the side of the Brindisi pay phone he's at, closing his eyes, drinking in the sound of her voice as best he can).

Lucky: "Grown accustomed"? I take it you saw Nikolas.

Em: Yeah. (She sighs heavily) He was a little taken aback, but he's doing what you wanted him to.

Lucky: Good.

Em: How's your side of things?

Lucky: Strange.

Em: Strange? (Lucky groans)

Lucky: If your brother had a sense of humor, I'd think he was pulling something on me.

Em: Jason has a sense of humor! He's just…

Lucky: Laughing on the inside? I'll take your word for it.

Em: Well, did everything work out?

Lucky: Yeah… Yeah, I got what a bargained for and… I don't know. A little something else, I think… I guess it'll make a good story one day.

Em: What?

Lucky: I'll save it for the boat ride. How do you feel about tomorrow?

Em: As good as I can… I know what I'm doing, I guess.

Lucky: Just be thorough, you'll be fine.

Em: (distantly) Yeah…

Lucky: Something wrong?

Em: I don't know… At the Square today, everything was just kind of… Quiet? Like, there wasn't anyone following me, I don't think. I didn't go straight back to the hotel, but still… There wasn't anyone there. (Long pause)

Lucky: Maybe you lucked out.

Em: You don't believe that anymore than I do.

Lucky: What time are you meeting Nikolas?

Em: Noon.

Lucky: Ok. Early. That's good.

Em: (yawning) Fine with me.

Lucky: Em, go back to sleep.

Em: No, I'm ok. (She looks over at the clock… two a.m.) What are you doing calling me now, anyway? Or is this what you meant by morning.

Lucky: I couldn't stop… (He takes a deep breath) I wanted to make sure you were ok, that's all.

Em: You are worried.

Lucky: No, I'm not. I know you can handle this.

Em: I know… But you're still worried.

Lucky: I just wanted to hear your voice.

Em: Ok, ok. I'll drop it.

Lucky: Ok. I got everything settled. You have to meet me at Le Ferie, it's this little… Bistro, or something. It's near the docks. I'll wait for you there.

Em: Lucky… Do you think everything's ok?

Lucky: I'm sure you can handle whatever gets thrown on you. Just keep your head and get out of town, that's all that matters.

Em: (nodding) Yeah… I just wish… This is so stupid, but if I'd seen something at the square, I'd feel so much better.

Lucky: I know. Not being sure is worse than knowing what you're up against.

Em: Yeah, I guess that's true.

Lucky: Look… Just get here. That's all that matters. (Emily smiles, sinking against the pillows)

Em: I miss you, isn't that crazy? I had the worst time trying to sleep without knowing where you were and how things were going.

Lucky: Why do you think I'm calling you? (Emily laughs softly)

Em: Ok, ok… I don't feel so pathetic then. (She rakes her fingers through her hair) I'll see you tomorrow, then.

Lucky: No matter what. Don't let yourself worry, it's a pointless activity. Just… Go.

Em: I will. Sleep well.

Lucky: (quietly) I'll try. Good night, Em.

Em: Good night. (Emily hangs up, and lets out a long breath. She lies back on the bed, pulling Lucky's pillow towards her and hugging it against her chest, feeling the knot in her stomach lessen for the first time since she said good- bye to Lucky at the fountain. Sleeping had been more than difficult, she'd been having vivid dreams that kept her irritatingly close to wakefulness. In addition to that, she still wasn't entirely adjusted to the time difference. Still, she feels better now, and she suspects she might be able to actually sleep.

Emily is only becomes aware that she has drifted off to sleep again when the phone breaks through the silence of the room. Emily starts, then rolls over on her back taking a moment to adjust before rolling over again and answering the phone. She sighs dramatically into the receiver, smiling to herself.)

Em: What now?

Helena: Now? I don't believe I've asked you for anything before, my dear. (Emily sits bolt upright).

Em: (demanding) Who is this?

Helena: Miss Quartermaine, I presume. Or shall I just call you Miss Brennan? I wouldn't want to blow your cover. (Emily's heart begins to race. She swallows hard. Don't panic, she tells herself firmly. Don't even think about it. She slides out of the bed and sinks onto the floor, glancing around the room in the dark)

Em: (as steadily as she can manage) What do you want, Mrs. Cassadine? (She hears a light laugh drift over the phone line. She closes her eyes, listening to the sounds, but only makes out Helena's voice and a slight static).

Helena: A direct little thing, aren't you? (Emily jaw tightens. Little thing?)

Em: How… (She closes her eyes. Damn. DAMN, she knew something like this was going to happen, it was in the stars. She shakes herself hard).

Helena: It's of little matter, isn't it? How? We have more important things to discuss.

Em: (Leaning forward) I don't have anything to discuss with you. If you think I'm going to tell you anything, you're more delusional than I thought.

Helena: My reputation proceeds me. (Emily presses her lips together, forcing herself not to blurt out what she's thinking about the woman's reputation). No matter, darling, it's hardly important. I was hoping that by catching you without young Mr. Spencer I could hope to have an honest conversation with you. (Emily feels herself go cold. So she knows that Lucky is gone?) I simply wanted to speak to you about my Grandson.

Em: Like hell you do.

Helena: What language! And from a girl from an upstanding family like yourself. I suspect the Spencers have corrupted you rather worse than I'd hoped.

Em: I'm not… (She stops herself. Best not to talk. There's no point in this)

Helena: Yes dear?

Em: (tense) I know what you're trying to do. I know you're trying to get me scared. It's not going to work.

Helena: Why on earth would I want to scare you?

Em: Wasn't that why you had me hit by a car? To SCARE my aunt? Isn't that what's going on here now?

Helena: Oh, dear. Yes, I suspected Lucky would blame me for that little incident.

Em: Incident? (She feels herself flush with anger as the word comes tumbling out of her. She forces herself to press her lips together tightly. If she's not careful she's just going to do more damage. As much as she'd love to let loose on this woman, chances are, it'll only end up hurting them. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.) Incident.

Helena: And it would seem you're healing well.

Em: (bitterly) I guess I am. Something my aunt didn't get to do.

Helena: Yes, that was tragic… (Emily takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself)

Em: Mrs. Cassadine… You've never had anything to say to me before, and I'm well aware that you must have known you'd only be dealing with me if you made this call, so if you have a point you'd like to make, please to it now. Otherwise, I'm hanging up.

Helena: (sickly sweet) Oh, my dear… I simply wanted to talk to you about my grandson!

Em: Yeah, I think I'll pass. (Emily hangs the phone up and stares at it a moment. She didn't even TRY to pretend that was about anything other than what it was. Why couldn't she just come out with a direct threat? Then Emily wouldn't feel so stupid about how hard her heart was beating now. She thinks back to the night Lucky came through her window, the night of the "incident". How she hadn't wanted to really look at him, to acknowledge how scared he was over a simple visit from this woman. Stupid. She shakes her head. She'd do just about anything right now to be able to climb through his window.

Ok, she instructs herself firmly. Think. What was that conversation about? Easy… it was about scaring her out of her wits. She closes her eyes. How? By letting her know that Helena knew where she was. That she was in the same city as Nikolas. That somehow, despite her best efforts, Helena had found her. And she knew that Lucky wasn't there. No, there was no doubt. She wanted to trip her up. Well to hell with that!

Emily sits up, finally and looks around the room. She reaches for the light then pulls her hand back quickly. No. Light is a luxury she doesn't feel like she can risk right now. After all, there is a wide-open courtyard outside her room. They could easily be watching her from out there. She shakes her head hard. Just… Take a minute and think. Clearly. What do you do now?

Emily looks around the room and takes stock of what's there. Lucky had left his bag for her to take, he didn't want to be weighed down in Brindisi and he'd said in the note it might come in handy. He'd also taken the funds from the safe, leaving her with the bulk of the Italian funds. So she doesn't have to worry about that… Just the bag. She takes a deep breath and crawls across the floor to it. She opens the pockets on it and starts going through the items she never really understands the purpose of. She pulls out the Swiss army knife, minor, but something she's glad to have. She lies it on the floor beside her. She realizes her hands are shaking and clenches her fists tightly. Don't freak out, she tells herself firmly. God, over the years, she has to have been in worse situations than this. She sits down and tries to think about what Lucky will do.

That runs quickly into a brick wall as she starts to go through the rules. Number one, always do the unexpected. Well, the unexpected for Lucky would be to stay here. The unexpected for her is to leave. Leave, but not leave obviously. This is ridiculous. She shakes her head. Right. The only rule that counts is to think everything through. Fine. She'll just do that.

Emily closes her eyes, going over the hotel floor plan in her head. The attic rooms, one of which she is staying in, are four stories up. There are two staircases, both from the lobby, that were accessible from either end of the hall.

No, she couldn't go to the lobby. Too many lights. If they knew the name she was travelling under… oh GOD! That meant she was traceable! Emily forces herself to breathe again, as she stands up and begins to pace the room, burning off excess energy. She stops, aware of the movement, and forces her to sit down in the chair, leaning back and closing her eyes, and sits in silence for several moments, going over her options.

Emily's eyes fly open. Fire escape. There was a fire escape, accessible from the corner rooms.

Oh, that's subtle. Go knock on their doors at 2:30 AM and ask to use their window. Old hotels, you had to love them. Besides, she didn't want to have lights flying on. No, she decides, dark is her friend.

And she's just going to sit here in it for a little while.

Emily sinks into the armchair, bringing her knees to her chin. She lets minutes stretch into hours, as she goes over her options. Once she feels someone secure with what she's decided, she stays, staring at the balcony, waiting. After all, this guy has to sleep sometime. And if she doesn't make a move for awhile he'll probably think she's just gone back to sleep.

Sleep. It seems like an impossibility. Emily can't imagine her heartbeat is ever going to slow. She's not even certain she's blinking. Finally, watching the digital numbers flip to 4:00.

Emily slips out of the chair and returns to Lucky's bag. She goes through the pocket, studying everything she finds, hoping for some sort of inspiration. She finally ends up with the Swiss army knife, a length of nylon rope, an impossibly small pair of flip up binoculars and a penlight. She puts everything back into the bag, thinking to herself "Only Lucky". She looks at her haul again. Ok. This she can make use of. She pulls her own bag towards it and dumps the contents on the floor. Flicking on the light, making sure the beam goes straight to the floor, she quickly goes through the pile of clothes and other necessities, sorting them into two piles… kinda necessary and absolutely necessary. Her clothes, she realizes, are altogether too light in color. She moves over to Lucky's bag and quickly goes through his clothes, thanking God that the boy knows how to pack light. She pulls on a black T-shirt, and lays it on the floor beside her. She looks back at her own clothes, throwing the second, sparse, pile into Lucky's bag, filling the remaining room, only barely fitting in her sandals, which she needs to play her part with Nikolas later on. She sighs, flashing back to Heidi a book her paternal Grandmother read her when she was very little. In fact, reading the book with the woman is the only memory she has of her. The one thing she remembers, in vivid detail, is Heidi's clothing… specifically the fact that she wore all her clothes to her Grandfather's house because she didn't have enough room in her suitcase. She looks around at what remains and picks up THE pair of black jeans and the T-shirt. She crosses the room and picks up the small sundress she'd been wearing that afternoon. She pulls off the shirt she's wearing, a black and off-white flannel thing, and pulls the dress over her head. She pulls the T-shirt and jeans on over it, then ties the shirt around her waist. She pulls on socks and her tennis shoes quickly. She goes back and digs through her non-necessities, coming up with a brown scrunchie which she uses to pull her hair, now too dark to really blend in with the tie, up into a haphazard bun on the top of her head. She picks up her purse, thankful that, in typical form, it holds more than it appears to. She looks around the room, letting the penlight make a quick, but low, trail around the room. It falls on her journal and she swears to herself, crossing and picking it up. She looks back at Lucky's bag, which is already a little swollen. She goes back over to it and, with some effort, manages to fit the book into it. She picks it up, unimpressed by the weight. It could be worse, she tells herself. She kneels down and picks up the knife and binoculars, slipping them into her pockets. She turns off the penlight, which she is now holding between her teeth, and slips it in her pocket as well, then picks up the rope, draping it over her arm.

Emily stops, taking a deep breath. She glances over at the clock. 4:15. Still early, an unearthly time to be up. At least it's only 10:00 PC time. She picks up the bag and walks slowly across the room to the balcony. She drops the bag inside the door, and opens the doors slowly. She steps out onto the terrace and looks down at the deserted courtyard.

Nothing.

Emily pulls the binoculars out of her pocket and hits the silver clasp that opens them with a click. She peers through them, though they are not much help in the dark. They do give her a better view of the courtyard, and while some parts are still in deep shadow, for the most part, it's visible and empty.

Emily reaches back in the door and grabs the bag. She pulls the doors shut behind her, wondering why leaving a hotel is always such an ordeal on these particular trips. At least she can't blame this on her family. She takes a deep breath and silently thanks God that she's not cursed with a debilitating fear of heights. She drops the bag, wishing there was some earthly way to make it lighter, and takes the rope, trying it securely to both straps. She checks the knot a few times, until she's satisfied with it. She bites her lip, wishing she had some clue what Helena wanted, specifically. To scare her, to make her make a mistake. Was this going to BE a mistake? She sighs heavily, and stands up, deciding it doesn't matter. She doesn't want to tip Helena off on just how soon they are leaving town or where they are going. So she has to get to the train station on her own so that she doesn't just show up at the museum the next day with a pack full of clothes, screaming "immediate departure" to Helena's man and whoever is watching Nikolas for Stefan.

Emily shakes off thoughts of the museum, feeling sick at the thought. She has to get through this first. She can't take the double hit of stress right now. She looks up at the roof. The reason for taking an attic room had been really basic. According to the travel guide, the attic rooms were the only ones in the hotel that were worth taking. Now, she supposed, it was turning out to be a good thing. The only way out. She puts her hands on the railing of the terrace and pulls on it, ensuring that it's stable. There is a light trace of early morning dew along the top and she wipes it off with the sleeve of her the shirt tied to her waist. Once that's done she takes the rope and twists it around her wrist.

Emily reaches up on her toes and grazes her fingertips along the lip of the roof. She steps up on the bottom of the wrought iron railing and reaches up again, getting a firm grasp on the lip of the roof. She holds it tightly, then pulls herself up, climbing the railing so that she is finally standing on the top of the railing. She holds the roof with one hand, telling herself not to look down. She turns her head towards the roof and starts, very carefully, to turn her whole body in that direction. The lip of the roof is at her chest level and she takes a deep breath, aware that her soles of her shoes are too slick and she's likely to slip if she's not excruciatingly careful. She grips the edge of the roof and forces herself to bend her knees and jump. So that she lands with her chest and the top of her stomach on the rooftops. Struggling and warding off flashbacks, she manages to slowly pull herself up onto the roof, moving up towards the apex of the slope. She pulls her legs up, and curls up on the edge, once she's finally made it, breathing heavily.

After giving the world around her a chance to stop spinning, Emily turns her attention to the slack rope tied around her wrist. She rolls over onto her back and plants her feet firmly on the shingles, then forces herself to sit up. She starts to gather the rope up towards her until the reaches the point of resistance. She slides across the roof so that she's at a point where she would fall onto the terrace if the worst did happen, and ties the rope around her waist, sliding up the roof so that it stays taut. She begins, with much effort, to pull the bag up towards her, winding the rope around her hands with every pull so that it won't slip back if she looses her grip. She smiles, laughing slightly as the bag lifts, moving up towards her.

The bag catches on the lip of the roof and Emily closes her eyes, wondering if it would be hopelessly wimpy to just cry at this point. She bites her lip hard, letting tears spring to her eyes in response to the pain, then looks behind her. There is an aerial behind her. She could tie the rope.

Emily moves, keeping the rope taunt, though the bag slips slightly, and moves to the top of the roof, comforting herself slightly with the knowledge that the rope wouldn't have reached for her to START here. She wraps it around her wrist again, until the bag drops catches again, and unties the rope from her waist. This is ridiculous, she thinks to herself, her jaw so tight she feels like it might snap. She ties it to the very base of the aerial, then slides back down towards the terrace. She lets herself drop back onto the balcony, landing on her feet and hands. She stands up again immediately, feeling impatient with this whole enterprise, then turns and pushes the swinging bag up on the roof. It slides, but catches on the same lip that it wouldn't pass earlier. Satisfied that she's completed the most difficult part of the enterprise, Emily stands up and moves back to the railing.

She is barely aware of repeating the actions she performed earlier, in fact she's becoming less aware of everything, sound shutting out, outside of her breathing. She pulls herself back up onto the roof, not paying attention to broken nails, scraped palms, or the fact that her wrists are now bleeding. She moves to the bag and pulls it up, undoing the rope. She slides it onto her back, immediately aware that her gut instinct had been right. She never would have been able to climb onto the roof with it. She moves up to the aerial again, and unties the rope. Once that is done she wraps it back up hooking it on her thumb and around her elbow. She removes it, trying the end around itself, and holds it tight in her hand as she rises, unsteadily, and makes her way along the roof to the fire escape on the opposite side of the building. She reaches the edge and sits down, on the angle, pulling off the pack. She looks down and is faced immediately with the alley beside the hotel, easy to see through the black metal grating of the fire escape. She drops the bag and it falls several feet and lands with a clang that sounds, to Emily, like a nuclear explosion. She freezes. After several moments with no lights appearing, she slides her legs over the edge. She stares down, blinking a few times so that she can clearly make out the boundaries of the grated box she's trying to jump into. She closes her eyes and slides down until it becomes clear that there is no other choice but to jump. Emily takes a moment to wish she'd taken those religious instruction classes she'd had after Michael's baptism just a little more seriously, then jumps.

Emily lands on the grate expertly, though the whole fire escape clatters and echoes with the force of her weight landing on it. She closes her eyes, silently thanking some higher being, then picks up the pack and pulls it back on. She starts down the escape as quickly, not caring, at this point, that it's making noise. Surely she's all ready waken whoever's there is to wake, she's not sticking around to find out.

At the bottom, She pushes down the ladder and scales it quickly, though she nearly falls when one sneaker slips. She drops onto the asphalt of the alley, the shock of the hard ground reverberating through her after wood and metal. Emily stays on the ground a moment, realizing that almost every part of her aches. She stands up, uncertain, and looks around.

Alone.

She stumbles over to the wall and leans against it, letting tears fall from her eyes in relief. After a moment, however, she forces herself upright. The adrenaline is wearing off and she can't let it. She has to get to the train station. She has to get rid of this bag. She has to find someplace with really strong espresso before she goes to meet Nikolas.

Emily turns and starts down the alley, not even feeling the ground beneath her. So that steps done. Now on to the hard part.